


tooth & claw

by oh_no_oh_dear, Sarsaparilla



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Cap!Sam, Dinosaurs, Everyone Loves Sam Wilson, F/M, Gen, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-binary character, Polyamory, Sam Wilson Can Talk to Birds, Stephen Strange is a PoC OOPS, Steve suffers because that's what he does best, Time Travel, Trans Character, Trans Nick Fury, don't worry it'll end fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarsaparilla/pseuds/Sarsaparilla
Summary: Wherein there are dinosaurs, two grown men pining for each other while everyone else rolls their eyes, and Steve Rogers having the complete opposite of the luck of the Irish.





	tooth & claw

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: The Jurassic era is a heck of a long time period, so dinos etc that show up that belong to the 'late' or 'early' or 'mid' period? Yeah, they all chillin' together. Don't worry about it. Steve sure isn't.
> 
> Ships: Sam/Steve; Sam/Nat/Bucky. Nothing against Steve/Bucky, but it doesn't happen in this fic. Just saving hardcore Stucky shippers any potential disappointment upfront. Wink wonk.
> 
> Show-stopping, jaw-dropping, eye-bulging art by the insanely talented [Sarsaparilla](https://sarsasart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Beta'd by [ the best dang trash panda a guy could ask for](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rc1788)

Steve Rogers’ last words to Sam were “Don’t I always?”  
  
As final words go, they weren’t particularly inspiring or touching; he’d merely been replying to Sam’s “Don’t do anything stupid, Rogers” with a grin and a snappy comment as he always did, and then...  
  
To be honest, Sam didn’t see it happen. Neither did Bucky. The heat of battle had had his best friends’ attention, and they didn’t see their foe, an entity known only as ‘Infinity,’ raise its arm and send a wave of _nothingness_ at Captain America. The grass turned dry and brown, the earth beneath becoming cracked and hard as the _nothingness_ passed through Steve’s shield like it wasn’t even there.  
  
The muffled _thud_ of the vibranium disc falling to the dirt wasn’t heard by any nearby, and the few tendrils of steam marking where Steve had just been standing were immediately dissipated when two S.H.I.E.L.D agents ran past, dodging laser blasts from some truly enormous Cosmik Warriors.  
  
Sam, meanwhile, was seeing actual spots from how hard he’d just gotten knocked in the head by Infinity’s second-in-command, a huge mass of cosmic energy in the vague shape of a human named Skyfire.  
  
   “Surrender,” Skyfire roared. So far, the Cosmik Warriors hadn't been the most subtle enemies the Avengers had fought. A lot of shouting and Lisa Frank-coloured lasers. Tacky. Sam weaved out of the way of another swing, even as he shook his head a little in order to clear the fuzziness.  
  
“Surrender and Infinity will take pity,” Skyfire continued. Its hair and eyes, a searing white, were almost as disconcerting its blistering-hot touch. Sam was already mentally tallying how many burns his arms had, in addition to regretting having gone for short sleeves for his uniform.  
  
   “I don’t know if you know about us,” Sam rasped, “but we ain’t exactly known for rolling over and playing dead.”  
  
   “I do not comprehend.”  
  
Sam heaved a sigh; he was yet to engage in a fight of any size that wasn’t _talk talk talk._ What happened to just fighting? Why did everyone have to have a whole damn conversation in the middle of a battle?  
  
   “We don’t surrender, is what it means.” Sam kept an eye on Skyfire as he slowly backed away to where he knew Steve was, trusting he’d have Sam’s back like he always did. But ... the heel of Sam’s boot connected with something hard and metallic, and he barely had time to glance down and think  _'_ _Shit, the shield'_ before Skyfire was right in front of him and reaching for his throat.  
  
   “I would have showed you more mercy than Infinity showed your Captain-”  
  
Its speech was cut short by an eye-searing violet-blue light enveloping its body and Sam lurched back, managing to turn his ungainly stumble into a pretty smooth backward roll. He even grabbed Steve's discarded shield on the way, which he'd definitely preen over later. Assuming they didn't all die during the fight.   
  
Behind the now stock-still Skyfire, Bucky was advancing on them with a weapon of some sort trained on it. The purpleish-blue light was coming from the weapon, and Sam could just about hear Bucky shouting "GET OUT OF THE WAY" over the general din of the surrounding lasers, guns, and screaming.   
  
Sam didn’t need to be told twice, putting a healthy amount of distance between himself and whatever Bucky was about to do. Skyfire was still eerily still, but soon there was a horrible whine and an uncomfortable increase in the air pressure before it seemed to almost compress in on itself, the blue light piercing all through its body. The battle seemed to come to a stand-still, combatants pausing in their fighting to stare at the horrible writhing shape of Skyfire.  
  
Sam felt like he was going to be sick. Sure, it'd been, but it didn’t mean that he took pleasure in seeing a sentient being meeting such a nasty end. He shook himself a little, blinking rapidly to get the afterimage out of his sight. Skyfire was gone.  
  
   “That was disgusting, and I’ve seen some shit,” Bucky huffed from beside him. He was covered in sweat and blueish slime, lowering the complicated-looking weapon, which was emitting the _tickticktick_ of cooling metal.  
  
   “ _Ugh_ , Barnes, you smell like--” Sam cast about for the words for a moment -- “static?”  
  
   “Somethin’ like that,” Bucky agreed. His eyes darted down to the shield in Sam’s hands and raised his eyebrows in mute question.  
  
   “Dunno,” Sam replied, shrugging the arm holding the shield. The damn thing was heavy, even though Steve made it look like he was throwing a frisbee.  
“Must be somewhere caught up in the fight.”  
  
They shared a look, neither one of them saying aloud what was troubling them. Steve didn’t always fight with his shield, it was true… but he never just left it laying around, either.  
  
They didn't have the luxury of worrying for long, though; a nearby agent was disintegrated in a flash of orange light and the Avengers were forced to rejoin the fray. Steve had to be somewhere around here, being a big damn hero as usual. They’d have plenty of time to tell him off while he gave them his “Aw golly gee, fellas” / “You can’t tell me _shit_ ” looks.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “ _Sam, please tell me you haven’t been vaporized._ ” Natasha's voice was slightly tinny coming from the tiny comm device in Sam's ear. He barely dared to move a muscle, although he was practically facedown on the ground and his arm was cramping from being trapped awkwardly underneath him. He was currently lying as still as he could behind some scrubby bushes, grateful for even this measly cover. 

  
Things had gotten real fucked up _real_ fast. Infinity, the leader of the Cosmik Warriors, had gone beserk after seeing what Barnes had done to Skyfire. Most of their weapons had been disabled. Sam lost count of how many agents had been vaporized. Barnes hadn’t been responding over the comms. Wanda and Tony had had to take shelter in a nearby blown-out building. If Sam strained his eyes, he could just make out the red flicker of her magic keeping the badly-injured man alive, and Natasha...  
  
Well, let’s just say Sam was more than a little relieved to hear her voice.  
  
   “Nat, I'm here. Barnes?” Sam said, not daring to raise his voice above a hoarse murmur.  
  
   “ _He’s here. Unconscious._ ”  
  
   “Jesus. What happened?”  
  
   “ _Took a hit_ _meant for me.”_  
  
   “ _Barnes_ got knocked out by a punch?”  
  
   “ _Not the punch per se, but being slammed through a concrete wall did it."_  
  
   “Oh, shit. He okay?”  
  
   “ _I told him not to play the hero. I can take care of myself.”_ Natasha’s voice was a little less steady than usual, and Sam knew that this was her only tell. She was worried. Hell, he was just short of terrified himself. There was still no sign of Steve.   
  
   “He just wants to protect you,” Sam finally replied. He heard her sigh tiredly.  
  
   “ _He should know better.”_  
  
   “Nat--” Sam went silent for a moment, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye. Wanda was spelling something in the air, faint red letters just visible to him from within the darkness of her hiding place. _S-T-R-A-N-G-E_. Sam didn't know what to make of it. Their current situation went a little beyond 'strange,' but Wanda's comms were down, so he couldn't ask for clarification.    
  
“Nat, anything from Rogers?”  **  
****  
** Her silence made Sam feel queasy.  
  
   “ _We’ll find him, Sam.”_  
  
   “Shit. Shit.”  
  
   “ _Just lay low until help comes, okay? Steve wouldn’t forgive us if we let you get hurt.”_  
  
Sam didn't think Steve would be too jazzed about  _any_ of them getting hurt, but whatever.  
  
   “Help? What kind of help is coming?”  
  
    ** _THEY ARE COMING_**.  
  
   “ _Je_ -sus, Wanda! Tone it down!”  
  
    ** _I’m sorry; I’ve only just got back enough strength to contact you telepathically._**  
  
   “Okay. Okay, who’s coming? You were trying to tell me earlier, but I didn't get it,”  
  
    _“I’ve lost a_ ** _lot_** _of blood, so I’m gonna need someone to confirm that I’m seeing glowing circles and mysterious symbols floating in midair. I’m not experiencing brain death? Everyone else sees this?”_  
  
    _“We see it, Stark,”_ a croaky male voice responded. Barnes was apparently awake. Sam didn’t know what to make of the sigils himself, but since they didn’t seem to be making him dead, he decided to leave them be for now. The day had been confusing enough already.  
  
   “Barnes, Stark, Romanoff, Maximoff… shit, are we all that’s left?” Sam let out a slow breath, finally moving a little. He gingerly got into a squat and rolled his shoulders with a wince. It looked like it was going to come down to just them.  
  
Infinity wasn’t far off, its body like a rip in space, all inky black and the swirling lights eerily like far-off galaxies just visible if you dared to look long enough. It was all very aesthetically appealing in a 'pants-shitting-fear kind' of way. Sam chewed his lip thoughtfully. They'd taken on some pretty intimidating foes before, but this? This was a murderous alien conscience made sentient, so it was a bit of a problem. More than a bit. Okay, a huge fucking problem. Sam wasn’t sure they’d be getting out of this one. It was a thought that he had fairly often, but this time, he really, truly felt like there was a pretty big chance they were all going to die. Bullshit. He'd just put down a deposit on a really nice condo.  
  
He also didn’t get to tell Steve-- well, no. Too late for that. Focus on taking this thing down, if they could.  
  
    _“I think it’s just us chickens_ , _”_ Tony finally replied. He sounded sleepy, which was probably indicative of how badly hurt he was. The man was a human Monster energy drink.  
  
   <<Oh, I wouldn’t throw in the towel just yet.>>  
  
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, making Nat swear softly. Sam straightened up as the voice, smooth and calm, echoed through his mind. It was utterly unlike when Wanda communicated with him; this seemed to be in every cell of him, not just a voice talking but a mind sharing space with his.   
  
The air smelled of ozone for a second and then a huge spinning circle of gold appeared, sparks flying off it as it expanded wide enough to allow a tall figure to step out of it.  
  
   “Strange?” Sam said, getting to his feet without thinking. Wanda's message earlier now made sense. At least something in this godforsaken day made sense. Infinity, who had been distracted by the arrival of the newcomer, immediately turned its eyes on Sam. He knew with a sickening certainty that it was looking right at him.  
  
“Listen, Strange is here. Who can still fight?” Sam wasn’t going down without a goddamn fight.  
  
    _“I’m in,”_ Bucky said at once. _“So’s Natasha.”_  
  
    _“Is this our final stand? We haven't had a dramatic final stand in a while,”_ Tony chimed in. Sam smirked a little, because, well. Stark was right.    
  
    _“I will fight,”_ Wanda answered quietly. Sam hadn’t expected less from his fellow Avengers, but he’d wanted to give them the opportunity to back out.  
  
   “Samuel,” Strange  said, having finally walked over to him. “Are you hurt?”  
  
   “I’m in one piece,” Sam said evasively. He didn’t like how Infinity's intense gaze was still fixed on him.  
“You got any magical aces up your sleeve?” he asked hopefully. He didn’t miss Strange’s eyes dart down to the shield and back up to his face, a flash of worry swiftly hidden.  
  
   “Well, yes and no,” Stephen said, frowning a little as they did a complicated gesture with their fingers. Sam breathed out hard when a strange chill crept over his skin, but Strange just nodded and looked satisfied.  
“That should soothe your burns for a while,” they continued, gesturing to Sam’s arm. “That… thing...”  
  
   “Infinity,” Sam interjected.  
  
   “Ahh. Infinity. It’s gathering a massive amount of energy as we speak.”  
  
   “Great, yeah, good. For what?” Sam asked bleakly.  
  
   “Well, to wipe out every living thing within quite a wide radius, I think,” Strange said matter-of-factly. Their tawny skin looked pallid even in the blazing sun, although their light brown eyes were as keen and piercing as ever. Sam was about to ask if they were all right when--  
  
   “ _Doc, is that you?”_  
  
   “Hello, Tony. Are you feeling better?”  
  
   “ _My blood’s staying on the inside. It’s a start. You doing this?”_  
  
   “Just enough to keep you conscious. I can’t expend much more.”  
  
    _“Oh, that’s what all this glowing stuff is. Nat ‘n me are fine. We don’t need healing,”_ Bucky interjected.  
  
   “Protection, not healing. You two don’t have much in the way of shielding.”  
  
   “ _Okay, now that the healer’s here, do we wanna roll for initiative?”_     
  
   Sam opened his mouth to make an equally terrible D&D joke, but Strange interrupted by broadcasting directly into their minds:  
  
    <<I’ll go first. You all concentrate on escaping.>>  
  
    _“What?”_  Barnes said, clearly surprised.  
  
    <<It’s the best choice. I can try to turn its energy back on it.>>  
  
Without waiting for any further discussion, Stephen smoothed their long silver-streaked black hair back into its ponytail and turned to stride over to Infinity. Only the slightest stumble in their step showed the exhaustion that maintaining several spells at once was causing them.  
  
    **_He is not dead._**  
  
   “Wanda?”  
  
Sam knew even as he spoke aloud that the voice was not Wanda in his mind. It was too ...inhuman. It felt scratchy and burning hot and agonizingly cold all at once.  
  
    **_Your companions cannot hear us. He lives._  **  
  
   “Who?”  
  
    **_The one you mourn. The one you love._  ** **  
** **  
** _Steve._ Sam didn’t have the time to feel irritable at Infinity prying into the feelings regarding his best friend, even though he kept those very goddamn secret.  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
    **_Gone._  **  
  
   “Yeah, _thanks._ Gone _where?_ ”  
  
    **_He is here._**  
  
   “He’s--”  
  
    **_He is here, but he is gone. He is not dead. He may as well be._  **  
  
   “Why you even wasting my time?” Sam snapped, feeling his head ache with all the damn telepathic intrusions.  
  
Strange was almost directly in front of Infinity now, but its eyes were still trained on Sam.  
  
      _ **Interesting.**_ ** _Your mind is unusual. Unlike the others._  ** **  
** **  
**    “No it’s-- what?” Sam felt a thrill of panic even above the general ‘What the fuck’ feeling he was dealing with.  
  
    **_There is something here. It is unique, but it is locked away. I will free it._  **  
  
   “No, wait, what are you--”  
  
Strange reached out and gently placed their hand on Infinity’s arm. Both figures disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Sam was unconscious before he hit the ground.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “He’s not dead, he’s there, he’s--” Sam tried to relay Infinity’s message, drug-addled though he was in his hospital bed. Unfortunately, a fat pigeon landed on the window sill, cooing gently. Sam took one look at it and went completely still.  
  
“Steve’s not dead and I can hear that bird’s thoughts,” he said calmly. Bucky, who had been looking mildly concerned, now looked _really_ worried.  
  
That wouldn’t have been so bad if Nat, nursing her arm in a sling, didn’t look just as worried. When she looked worried, you knew shit was really bad.  
  


* * *

  
"Pain" didn't really do justice to the experience of being disintegrated.  It was being literally ripped apart in a flash of white-hot pain. If you concentrated real hard, you could swear you felt every single cell burning, shredding. Luckily, Steve had already been through something like that; it wasn’t for nothing that he’d screamed his head off when Dr. Erskine had made him into Captain America. That had hurt like the _devil_. Like a _motherfucker_ , even. (Sam would like that one. He loved when Steve swore.)

  
That aside, Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to wake up from being killed. His vision was disconcertingly blurry, the dark green shapes around him (trees?) seeming to swim before his eyes. _Okay. Not dead. I think._ The number of times he'd thought that exact phrase in his life was beyond counting. _  
  
_ He had to use his other senses to figure out where he was, then. Nothing seemed to be trying to kill him at that exact moment, but he knew better than to trust that for long. Life had taught him differently.  
  
**Touch** : he was lying on the ground, which was warm and somewhat marshy under his fingers. It felt like he was lying in mud, because of course he was. At least, it _felt_ like mud. God, he hoped it was mud.  
  
**Smell** : it was humid, hard to breathe. The scent of plant decay and … sulfur? lay heavy in the air. It seemed to coat the inside of his throat, and it was a struggle not to gasp for air. That probably wasn't ideal.  
  
**Taste** : he wasn't about to lick anything, but the heavy air was strange, slightly sour on his tongue when he took a raspy breath in through his mouth.  
  
**Sound** : weird. _Weird_ sounds. The chittering and scurrying of small animals, the low burble of nearby running water, and the sound of plants rustling against each other. None of that was weird. None of that is what made Steve get to his feet, slipping in the mud (please, _please_ mud) and grasping for a shield that wasn't there.  
  
It was the low, not-far-off-enough-to-be-comfortable groan that he heard. It was definitely not human, accompanied as it was by the chuffing and hissing of something truly massive.

 **Sight** : his eyes were finally focusing and he could just about make out his surroundings now, but what he saw made him wonder if he hadn't knocked his head hard on something. The ground (mud, thank god for small mercies) was studded with small trees. Some had spiky leaves not dissimilar from palms; others had rounder, waxy-looking leaves. Enormous ferns curled towards the sky, and just within his range of vision, he thought he saw larger trees towering in the distance. Large trees, and larger shapes moving slowly among them.  

All that was background information, though. Front and centre was what seemed to be a large, lizard-like creature staring right at him, its limbs and back covered in bristling feathers. He had an inane thought -- _Bucky would get a kick out of this_ \-- and then he was running for his life when the creature lost interest in looking at him and became more intrigued by the possibilities of trampling him.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Steve thought that even if he hadn’t seen everything, he’d certainly have seen enough that nothing could knock him off-balance. Before he went into the ice, he’d fought vampires and zombies. After coming back, he’d fought aliens and robots. It wasn’t even his first time seeing a dinosaur up close.  
  
But he’d never been this alone. He’d run missions by himself, sure. He’d been held captive alone more times than he could count. He’d even been trapped in a couple alternate dimensions before (the one where he’d woken up in the early 2000s had been fucking awful. He didn’t talk about that.) But he could feel, with a certainty that he couldn’t place, that he was the only human being here.  
  
This wasn’t Dinosaur Island (the foliage there looked completely different) and it definitely wasn’t the Savage Lands (no mutated beasts had tried to disembowel him yet.) No, the uneasy prickle he felt at the back of his neck was because he was somewhere completely new, and--  
  
Oh. Well, there was also a thin line of ants crawling down the collar of his suit. That, at least, was familiar. And since he didn’t have anyone but a nearby creature that looked like a huge salamander covered in sparse hair to remain stoic in front of, he indulged himself in yelling and slapping at his neck. Ant bites fucking sucked during _any_ era.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
He was so hungry. Maybe these mushrooms would be good sustenance?  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : he may or may not have died briefly.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : he sweat out the poison, finally, but he woke up curled up in some kind of shallow cave, having torn the already ruined top of his suit near to shreds to scratch frantically at his bug bites. The iconic white star had gone missing sometime soon after he’d ended up in this place, probably when that first dinosaur had charged him. He kind of missed it (the star, not the dinosaur.)  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Steve stood shakily, using the rough wall of the cave as support. It was night; he wasn’t sure how long he’d been in this strange place, but it had to be a couple of days at least. He hadn’t felt this weak for a long time, and his stomach ached with hunger. Far worse, though, was the searing thirst that parched his throat and made his skin feel hot and too tight.  
  
Despite all that, Steve found himself marvelling at how beautiful the the night sky was. Eyes fever-bright, Steve stared up at the stars. His head was swimming; not only with his maybe-death and dehydration, but with wonder. Without light pollution from humans, the sky was endlessly dark, the stars clear pinpoints of light in the sky. They seemed incredibly far off, and yet close enough to touch, all at once. Or maybe that was the fever talking.  
  
He needed water. Desperately. Even the setting of the sun hadn’t brought much relief from the humidity, and Steve’s skin felt disgustingly sticky. He wasn’t having a great time, but he was nothing if not a fighter, and he was determined to get through this so he could get home. He had people waiting. One in particular. One with a big laugh and a little gap between his front teeth.   
  
Steve took a steadying breath and forced himself to take a few wobbly steps, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark and steadfastly ignoring the rustle of unseen creatures. All he needed was a glint of starlight off of water. He just needed to find water, any water.  
  
When he finally found something to drink, he didn't stand on occasion. He ignored the strangely sour taste of the first few mouthfuls of water that he used his helmet to scoop up from the small pond he’d almost fallen into, and he ignored the slight burning in his throat, all for the sake of quenching his thirst.  
  
But he couldn’t ignore the agonizing stomach cramps less than 30 minutes later.  
  
And he sure as _hell_ couldn’t ignore the sudden diarrhea.  
  
   “God-damn-shit-fucking-Christ-almighty-Jesus- _fucking--_ ” Steve growled as he stripped off his ruined uniform, not even bothering to try to salvage the damn thing. He balled up the offending garment and stuffed it under a large rock a little distance away from his pathetic little cave. If... no, when he got home, he was _definitely_ leaving this part of the story out.  
  
Figuring that if the damn pond wasn't good for drinking, it had to be good for something, Steve took a thorough bath. Then, he sat down on the dirt of the floor of his cave and gave himself over to a good old-fashioned pity party. It was bad enough he’d been flung into this strange new (old?) world; he’d been bitten all over by ants, maybe possibly had died for a split second before the serum jolted him back, and now this.  
  
He was sitting bare-assed on a dirt cave floor, pebbles digging into his butt, stomach still cramping unhappily with nausea and hunger, and all he could think was that he wished he wasn’t so alone. He wished Bucky was there. He wished… he wished Sam was there. He missed his friend’s cheer, occasionally tinged with sarcasm. He missed Sam's dogged determination. He missed Sam’s laugh, the way he’d lightly shove the other person if the joke was particularly funny. Steve missed the way the corners of Sam’s shapely mouth turned down when he was working out a strategy or focusing on a particularly difficult crossword. He even missed the friendly bickering between Sam and Bucky, although it simultaneously drove him up the wall.  
  
He wished Sam could see the stars -- _these_ stars, untouched by artificial lights.  
  
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the sky and bathed the ground in a blue-white light for a second. It also lit up the disconcerting number of creatures that had crept up, unseen, out of pure curiosity. Or hunger. It was hard to tell.  
  
Steve looked up as another flash of lightning forked through the darkness, this time followed by a large _crack_ that made the nearby animals scurry away in alarm. A few moments later, a flare of yellow far off in the trees caught his attention; a fire had started somewhere.  
  
Steve immediately forced himself to his feet again. He knew how to do this. How to take the slightest chance and shape it into survival. Even as a sudden downpour caught him, even as he tried not to think of the sight he presented  running stark naked (except for his boots) through the rain towards a forest fire when everything else with legs was running the other way, he felt a little better. He knew how to fight. He knew how to survive. And if the thought of seeing Sam’s smile again made his aching legs pump a little faster, so be it.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Steve woke from the kind of deep sleep that can only come from bone-deep exhaustion. He felt less like rolling over and dying, if not quite well-rested. The sun was creeping over the strange trees, the morning punctuated not with birdsong but strange chitters and far-off screeches.  
  
As Steve ate the cold leftovers from the roasted meat he’d somehow prepared last night, he began strategizing. He had to assume that he’d be here for a while, until the others figured out where-- _when_ \-- he was, or he found a way home. Food was sorted for the time, and he’d finally figured out a way to boil some water. Okay, using his helmet as a pot of sorts wasn’t exactly hard to figure out when he wasn’t disoriented and dizzy with hunger and thirst, but still. He didn’t know what kind of meat he was eating either; he just knew that the creature had been slow enough for him to catch, and that the flesh hadn’t made him shit himself inside-out yet. That was good enough.  
  
Steve shielded his eyes against the sun, squinting against its glare. High above, stark against the clear blue sky, a winged shape wheeled slowly through the air.  
  


* * *

  
   “What?”  
  
Sam Wilson felt the coffee mug crack in his grip, and sighed resignedly as the lukewarm coffee dripped through his fingers onto the white tablecloth. Across from him, Nick Fury raised her eyebrows, simultaneously raising her hand to catch the attention of a passing server.  
  
   “Could we get another coffee here?” she started, before correcting herself. “Actually, maybe that’s enough caffeine. You got mint tea?”  
  
Sam murmured his apologies to the server as he tried ineffectively to stop the tablecloth from staining. Nick just watched calmly, offering her own cloth napkin without a word. Sam appreciated her tendency to let moments play out; he was sick of accidentally breaking cups and plates, and even more sick of the fuss that people made over it.  
  
   [Want me to repeat?] she asked, allowing the smallest quirk of her lips. Sam tried to give her a narrow look in return, but really he was just impressed with her accent. Who knew Nick Fury spoke perfect Haitian creole?  
  
   [How did you know…?] Sam murmured, nodding his thanks at the steaming cup of peppermint tea that their server set in front of them. Nick just snorted and blew across her tea to cool it a little. Sam finally smiled; of _course_ Fury knew about Sam’s background. She was _Nick Fury._  
  
   [So, Wilson… yes or no?]  
  
   [You’re serious, ma’am?]  
  
   [Do I look like the joking type?]  
  
Sam hesitated, unsure how to answer that. Fury was stern and intimidating-- if you were the type to make shallow judgments of people, that is. She usually had a fond look in her eye when she oversaw the group of argumentative  Avengers. It was as easy to miss as the small framed picture she had of herself and her husband on her otherwise spotless desk. Nick Fury favoured long black leather jackets, preferred herbal tea to coffee, always smelled slightly of gun oil, and always had her nails immaculately. (Sam had heard Natasha ask Nick once how she kept her nails so perfect. Something called “shell lack,” he’d gathered.)  
  
She was a complicated woman, and Sam trusted her with his life more every day.  
  
And now she was asking him to be Captain America.  
  
   [...yes?] Sam finally replied, taking a sip of his tea and flinching because it was still too hot. Nick cracked up then, her deep laugh a pleasure to hear after such a stressful few weeks. Steve Rogers had been missing for over a month, and they barely had any leads.  
  
   [Good answer.] She paused to sigh, a little of her mirth slipping away again. [We need a Captain America. You’re the best one for the job.]  
  
   [What about Barnes?] Sam asked before he could stop himself.  
  
   [What _about_ Barnes?] she echoed, frowning.  
  
   [Did you ask him first?]  
  
   [I asked the best one for the job first.]  
  
Sam fidgeted a little, a sudden flare of anxiety twisting his stomach. He couldn’t tell if it was from him, or from--  
  
Someone else.  
  
    [What makes me the best one?] Sam asked, distracted.  
  
Fury had been watching him carefully, clearly noticing his tension.  
“Did something happen?” she asked, switching smoothly back to English. Sam nodded slowly, parsing the sudden jumble of information in his mind.  
  
   “There’s… it’s something to do with … shit, Steve? Maybe.” Sam half-stood, his eyes darting to where some birds were congregating, clearly agitated.  
“It is. They found something. We should go; Strange is on their way here.”  
  
Nick _hmm_ ed thoughtfully as she fished out enough money to pay for their meal from her wallet.

  
   [Wilson,] she said sharply, getting Sam’s attention, [ _this_ is why I asked you to be Cap.]  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “How was Tibet, Stephen?” Sam asked Strange as he joined the sorcerer in their makeshift office at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.  
  
Stephen Strange looked _exhausted_. Their hair, usually shining and neat, hung in limp strands around their face, their high cheekbones were dotted with stress acne, and the dark smudges under their eyes from lack of sleep completed the look.  
  
   “Are you being polite, or do you really want to know? I know you must be eager for news of Steve,” Strange said with a teasing edge to their voice. Unexpectedly, they had grown close to Sam Wilson. Looking tirelessly for a missing super-soldier while existing on only caffeine and determination (and a little magic boost now and then) created a friendship between the two that they couldn’t quite explain.  
  
   “Nah, I really want to know,” Sam nodded, easing himself into one of the comfortable armchairs that they had struggled to drag into the room a few weeks ago.  
  
Stephen smiled a little before performing a complicated gesture with their fingers, half turning in their chair so that they could still see Sam as they worked. Sam watched, still fascinated after all this time that all the glowing lines and curves would eventually coalesce into a real, working spell.  
  
   “My portal opened in the middle of my sister’s neighbour’s yard,” Strange said, shaking their head. “Scared a group of kids so badly, it took me buying everyone candy to calm them down.”  
  
Sam chuckled, easing back into the chair.  
“That’s one way to make an entrance, man.” He cringed. “Sorry, shit. I gotta stop calling everyone that--”  
  
Strange waved their hand. “Thanks. Don’t worry.”  
  
Sam huffed out a breath. “Still. So… how’d visiting your sister go?”  
  
   “She was happy to see me again,” Stephen answered, their voice a little quieter. “The spells … she was less thrilled about that. Seemed to think I’d be in danger because of my powers.”  
  
   “Imagine that,” Sam said dryly. “An Avenger, in danger.”  
  
   “I’m not an Avenger, Sam.”  
  
   “Yet. You know Fury is just biding her time.”  
  
   “Yes, well. How are Barnes and Romanoff?”  
  
   “Nice subject change. Smooth.”  
  
Stephen flashed a quick wink at Sam, but gestured that they wanted him to go on.  
  
   “They’re pretty great, actually,” Sam said, allowing himself a small smile. They’d stayed by his side as he recovered from the battle with Infinity, inviting him often to spend the night. He’d bring wine, Barnes would cook, Natasha would keep them all laughing at dinner with her outlandish (and probably true) stories. He was invited to movie nights. One or the other almost always accompanied him to the myriad of assessments and long, drawn-out briefings with S.H.I.E.L.D. that left him drained. He’d once been harangued into staying with them for a whole week when a dream left him shaken and unable to sleep properly for days on end.  
  
Still, when Natasha had asked him on a date-- an _actual_ date-- Sam had looked nonplussed.  
  
    _“Barnes might have something to say about that,” Sam had said carefully, not saying ‘no’ just yet._ _  
__  
_     _“Well,_ ** _golly_** _, I hope so,” Natasha said, eyes comically widened, “since it was his idea and all.”_ _  
__  
_     _“What.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Is that a yes?”_ _  
__  
_     _“Ye-- wait, are you asking for you, or for him, or…?”_ _  
__  
_     _“Yes.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Wow.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Yes?”_ _  
__  
_     _“Who says I wanna date Bucky Barnes, anyway?” Sam smirked, folding his arms. Natasha’s answering smile was slow, but genuine._ _  
__  
_     _“I’m kinda good at figuring people out, Sam. For example: you're thinking of saying yes.”_ _  
__  
_     _“_ ** _You_** _wanna go out with_ ** _me_** _,” Sam said slowly, just to check. Nat inclined her head._ _  
__  
_     _“I do.”_ _  
__  
_     _“I'm... but... then… hm. Okay. Okay. Sure. Yeah, let’s try."_ _  
__  
__Later, Sam allowed himself to relax a little, admitting to himself that he needed this. He deserved this. Deserved affection, deserved to be spooned by Natasha (yes, she was several inches shorter than him, but she was always the big spoon. Even if it meant her struggling to see the TV.)_ _  
__  
_     _“I can’t hear the movie over the sound of you thinking,” she murmured. Sam huffed out a quiet laugh._ _  
__  
_     _“Just… this is nice.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Mhm?” Natasha hummed, encouraging him to go on._ _  
__  
_     _“I’m thinking about Steve.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Ouch. A girl might take offense.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Aw, don’t be like that, babe.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Babe?! Take it back.” She skimmed her fingers under his shirt, tickling his ribs and snorting with laughter when he let out an undignified yelp and tried to writhe away._ _  
__  
_     _“Okay! Okay, okay… but no, I mean… this is nice.”_ _  
__  
_     _“You said.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Nat, why are you like this.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Sorry, go on.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Steve’s out there alone. He probably doesn’t have this. I just…”_ Miss him. _“Worry about him,” Sam finished. No one on the team had even entertained anything other than Steve being missing. He’d be back soon. He had to be. They’d_ ** _get_** _him back._ _  
__  
_     _“I understand,” Natasha said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. There were a few moments of quiet contemplation between the two, and then Sam turned his head so he could meet Nat’s eyes._ _  
__  
_     _“Tell Barnes ‘okay.’”_ _  
__  
_     _“Okay to…?”_ _  
__  
_     _“This. The dating thing. If he wants to.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Oh?”_ _  
__  
_     _“Yeah. But he’s gotta be real charming,” Sam grinned. Natasha grimaced dramatically._ _  
__  
_     _“I can get a lotta shit done, Wilson, but I ain’t a goddamn miracle worker.” Her imitation of Bucky was dead-on, and Sam literally cried with laughter. (Bucky looked rather less amused when she repeated the mimicry later on at dinner.)_  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
    _“Add more.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Sammy. C’mon. I think you should take a break.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Add. More.”_ _  
__  
__Bucky made a face as he added more weight to the bar, knowing better than to argue with him any more. Sam had just found out that Infinity had done something to him. Something that was apparently irreversible._ _  
__  
__Sam let out a frustrated grunt as he hoisted the weights over his head. Still barely a struggle. They hadn’t hit his limit yet, but he was already benching twice as much as he used to, was able to run full-speed on a treadmill for over an hour before showing any signs of fatigue, and… the bird thing. The talking to birds thing._ _  
__  
_     _“What’d the analysts say?” Bucky asked when Sam finally lay back against the bench, sweating heavily._ _  
__  
__Sam took a little while to answer, but Bucky waited him out. The guy had been through a lot recently._ _  
__“Said I have a … neural link with birds,” Sam said flatly. It meant being jolted awake every morning as soon as the sparrows in the tree next to his apartment woke up. It meant feeling a misplaced surge of panic, only to realize that the neighbour’s cat was eyeing some finches nearby and he was picking up on their emotions._ _  
__  
__It also meant having nosy crows alert him that the men who were delivering a package to Avengers Tower_ ** _weren’t_** _the usual humans and that they seemed odd somehow. They’d been A.I.M. agents in disguise, almost embarrassingly desperate to steal some of Stark’s tech.  
  
_     _“Physically?” Bucky pressed. Sam quirked his mouth in an almost-smile.  
__  
_     _“They say I’m almost as strong as Ca-- as Steve.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Shit. Well, count me out for sparrin’ with you, Wilson.”_ _  
__  
_     _“Why, you only fight when you know you’ll win?” Sam shot back, using his shoulder to nudge Bucky. Bucky didn’t move away, leaning so that his head was cradled against Sam’s shoulder._ _  
__  
_     _“You know it.”  
  
_ \---  
  
   “That’s good,” Strange said now, nodding. “It’s an… unusual arrangement, but I’m sure it will be fine.”  
  
   “... _will_ be fine?” Sam asked, frowning a little.  
  
   “Well, yes,” Stephen said distractedly. “When Steven gets back, I’m sure you’ll make both relationships work.” Sam blinked, but Strange was too busy peering intently at their spellwork to notice.  
  
   “Both relationships?” Sam echoed, feeling his face heat up. He and Steve hadn’t even-- they weren’t-- what?  
  
Strange shot him a carefully blank look over their shoulder.  
“Are you still … all right, very well. I’ll mind my business.” They turned back to their work, but sat up suddenly when the spell symbols flashed red and froze in mid-air; at the same time, Sam felt a strange sensation lance through him, like a cold gust of air that went through his whole body. By the time he realized he was shaking a little, Strange was already crouched in front of him, tentatively touching his arm.  
  
   “Did you feel that, Sam?”  
  
Sam could only nod. Strange frowned, using their badly scarred fingers to pinch at the bridge of their nose.  
  
   “I wish I could understand how your mind worked,” they said, mild frustration clear in their voice.  
  
   “Makes two of us,” Sam said shortly, feeling the beginnings of a nasty headache.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “They’re talking about some really weird stuff now,” Sam said later. An unopened beer was in his hand, but he was just fidgeting with the label. Natasha looked up from her gun collection. She had a smudge of oil on her cheek, which was unreasonably cute. Bucky was out on recon (“recon” was code for “getting their favourite ice cream from that one place in the filthy corner shop a 30 minute train ride away.”)  
  
   “The birds?”  
  
   “I can never tell if you’re making fun of me when you ask that,” Sam muttered. Nat shook her head slightly before picking up one of her favourite pistols and checking it over.  
“Okay, well. They’ve got these stories, right?” Sam continued.  
  
   “Like bedtime stories?”  
  
   “Not… quite. Just stories. Like legends and whatever.”  
  
   “Bird stories. Stories for birds.”  
  
   “ _Nat_.”  
  
   “I didn’t say I don’t believe you.”  
  
   “Fine. So, they’re these traditional kinds of stories, where we-- I mean, where _they_ came from, big events in bird history--”  
  
Nat was unable to contain an amused snort.  
  
   “Oh quit it,” Sam muttered, incapable of keeping the small smile off his own face. It was all a little bit ridiculous, after all.  
“Anyway-- so. I usually ignore it since it’s the same stories over and over. But something’s changed now. It’s… all wrong.”  
  
   “How?” Nat wasn’t smiling now; she was looking intently at Sam’s face as she tucked her legs under her.  
  
   “Promise not to laugh.”  
  
   “Sam, your instincts haven’t been wrong once since Infinity did whatever it did. I’m listening.”  
  
   “They got this really creepy … I dunno, it’s like a boogeyman, almost. They call it the Skinless One.”  
  
   “Sounds appealing.”  
  
   “I know. But the thing is, it wasn’t there until today.”  
  
   “What?”  
  
   “The Skinless One. It had no place in their legends until earlier today, when I was with Strange. Their symbols went all red and the whole spell kind of froze up.”  
  
   “What kind of spell?” Natasha asked, sitting up a little more.  
  
   “They said it was a time spell, kinda wrapped around a tracking spell.” Actually, they had said something far more complicated and long-winded, but Sam was summarizing.  
  
   “ _Damn_ ,” she breathed.  
  
   “I know,” Sam said, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice. He slid from the couch to sit next to Natasha, who took one of his hands and squeezed. He barely dared to hope, but...  
“If it’s Steve, if he’s, he’s in the past or something, he could--”  
  
   “--he could be affecting the present day,” Natasha finished, her grip on Sam’s hand tightening.  
“But how do we know? How do we know it’s him?”  
  
Sam sighed.  
“We don’t.” _But I can feel it._  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Natasha was on the phone with Strange, speaking in a low voice as she paced in the living room. Sam stared down at the phone in his hand, willing himself to press the “Call” button.  
  
   “Just press it, Sam,” Bucky urged gently. He was standing close behind Sam, his arms looped loosely around Sam’s waist.  
  
   “I’m not ready.”  
  
   “You think _Steve_ was ready to be Captain America? That little punk? You kinda learn on the job.”  
  
   “And you’re _sure_ you don’t want--”  
  
   “Sure, I took up the shield before. I will again if you don’t want to take this on, but we both know you can do this. It should be you. C’mon. Call Fury.”  
  
Sam sucked in a deep breath and pressed “Call.”  
  
    _[Fury.]_ _  
__  
_    [It’s-- it’s Sam.]  
  
    _[I know. I’ve got this thing named ‘caller ID.’]_  
  
   [Haha. I called to, uhm… I wanted to…]  
  
Behind him, Bucky used his slight height advantage to rest his chin on Sam’s shoulder. “Go on,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand what was being said, since Sam had followed Fury’s lead and slipped back into Creole, but he had recognized the hesitation in his voice.  
  
    _[Was that Barnes?]_  
  
   [Yes, ma’am.]  
  
    _[Can’t he keep his hands off you for a second?]_  
  
   [No, Director.]  
  
    _[At least you three have stopped arguing during briefings.]_ _  
__  
_    [Agreed, ma’am.]

    _[All right, you’re being too polite. Means you’re calling about something big. Am I about to start calling you ‘Cap’?]_  
  
   [I… yes, ma’am. I accept.]  
  
    _[Good. I’ve got instructions for you.]_  
  
   [Ma’am.]  
  
    _[Relax.]_  
  
Sam let his shoulders sag, letting out a rueful laugh. Bucky _hmm?_ ed, but Sam just grinned at him and shook his head.  
  
   “Sam. James.” Natasha appeared by their sides, her phone gripped tightly in her hands. At the same time, Fury started speaking again.  
  
    _“Just got a possible Rogers update,”_ she said, slipping back into English. _“Romanoff there?”_ _  
_  
   “Yes, Director.”  
  
    _“She’ll update you. Meet at 0600 for briefing. And to fit your uniform.”_  
  
   “Yes, ma’am-- wait, uniform? You have one ready already?”  
  
    _“I’ve had one ready for the last 3 years, Wilson. Dismissed.”_  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Sam clicked ‘play’ on the grainy video again, the three of them watching the screen in tense silence.  
  
The footage showed an archeological dig site, the date and time marking it as only having happened a few hours prior. At first, nothing unusual happened; just the carefully roped-off section of the dig, the thin white twine swaying in the breeze. Barely visible against the dirt were a few brown shapes-- perhaps bones, perhaps ancient timber. And then-- a flicker. It was so fast that the video barely captured it, just a blip of white light.  
  
But lying in the middle of the dark earth, it had appeared. Unmistakable. A torn piece of  of dark blue material, with a large white star emblazoned on it.  
  


* * *

  
Even as Steve dove to the left, he already knew he wouldn’t be able to escape unscathed. A nasty gash in his side was infinitely preferable to him being eviscerated in the middle of nowhere, though. The dinosaur was only an adolescent really; a little taller than Steve, but significantly wider and with some pretty nasty talons to work with.  
  
Steve didn’t know the names of the creatures he had spent the last few months either observing, fleeing, or hunting. He’d simply categorized them into Docile (Unless I Accidentally Trample Their Eggs); Won’t Eat Me; Will Eat Me; Might Eat Me, and his two favourites, Will Ignore Me, and; I Can Eat This.  
  
This one definitely fell under both the Will Eat Me and I Can Eat This categories, which had made for a frustrating battle. Both parties had a vested interest in eating the other, so there was a lot of awkward circling each other and looking for an opportunity to attack.   
  
Steve was always on the move, searching for meat or plants that wouldn’t make him break out in a rash or make his tongue swell up. His super soldier metabolism had always been kind of a pain, but now it was a real hindrance. There was a limit to what he could safely eat, and him putting so much physical effort into getting it meant that his days were pretty much ‘get up, hunt, forage, fight, sleep’ without end.  
  
Some days he didn’t want to get up. Some days he considered not dodging out of the way of some huge reptile’s teeth. But something stubborn, something very _Steve Rogers_ , kept him getting up, fighting, getting through the days.  
  


  
  
Every few days, he returned to a particular patch of marshy ground. He didn’t know why, not really-- but he’d walked over it once and stopped suddenly, rooted to the spot. He felt an overwhelming sense of _rightness_ when he stood there. Like it was an oasis of sorts for his weary soul. He didn’t know how to describe it-- it was like… it was like that time Sam and Bucky had perfectly executed a maneuver and run over to grasp Steve’s arms after it was all over, all shouting and jittery with adrenaline, just happy to be alive. Or when Bucky had remembered that Steve liked black licorice, when so much else from his past was a blur. Or when Sam had smiled and asked, “What makes you happy?” all those years ago.  
  
So Steve went back every few days and stood there. It almost hurt to be there, the ache to be home was so strong. _I should’ve told Sam._ But he didn’t, and Sam didn’t, and they never did, even though it was so obvious. And now, here he was. Walking several miles every few days, to stand in this muddy patch of ground. Just to feel like he had a little hope.  
  
The thought that this might be it, that he might spend the rest of his days here, had crossed his mind. He aged slower than the average human, sure. But he was pretty sure he wasn’t immortal, and he definitely wasn’t immune to any of the planetwide disasters that he knew were bound to happen. He woke up in terror sometimes when the ground rumbled underneath him.  
  
  
  
Despite (or maybe because of) the mild sense of despair that permeated almost every day, the hopeless artist and romantic in Steve found the place beautiful. There were no flowering plants, as far as he could tell, and no soft grass to lay on. It was a lot of greens and browns, but it was all so richly coloured and lush that Steve found himself making clumsy little drawings with sticks, trying to capture the strange and yet familiar trees, the utterly unfamiliar reptiles and proto-mammals.  
  
A lot of the dinosaurs weren’t what he’d seen in artists’ depictions before; there was rather more confusing, almost mammal-like hair on some, bristling feathers on others… and then there were the mysterious flying ones. He knew what those were called, at least-- pterodactyls-- but they never let him get close. They had a keen interest in _him_ , always wheeling overhead or watching from nearby rocky outcrops. He didn’t know why, but they made him feel a little bit better.  
  
Like someone had his back.  
  
One day when he went back to the spot-- the spot that just _felt right_ \-- he sat down, on a whim. Almost without thinking, he drew in the muddy ground, a rough approximation of the trees and plants, the handful of nearby dinosaurs grazing on the leaves. For the first time, he added himself. A silly little thing, really. A stick figure approximation of how he reckoned he looked now. He didn’t have a mirror, only catching his reflection occasionally in a pool of water. He looked like something out of a cheesy sci-fi movie, hair past his shoulders, a thick beard obscuring most of the lower half of his face.  
  
And then there was the whole… loincloth situation.  
  
At first, he’d not bothered with clothing at all. Why should he, when there were no other humans to be embarrassed in front of? Then he’d learned that insects weren’t choosy about _where_ on his body they’d bite, so that was that. He’d clumsily skinned his kill the next time he’d gone hunting. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when his sturdy boots, the only surviving part of the outfit he’d arrived in, wore out.  
  
He sighed. _Another problem for another time._ He made himself get up to leave, already feeling the pangs of hunger again. Back to work. He looked down at his childish drawing and let out a rusty-sounding chuckle.  
  
He never really spoke or laughed anymore. Who was there to talk to besides himself? What was there to laugh at?  
  
He turned and walked away, not seeing the ground flicker strangely, nor the drawing disappear.  
  


* * *

  
Sam woke out of a dead sleep a second before Natasha’s phone alert beeped loudly. He’d felt it again-- a shock of cold racing through his body. 

  
Bucky was up immediately, fumbling with the lid of the laptop, while Natasha sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. Sam’s heart was hammering and he was wide awake, even though his body felt like one big bruise from his training. He reached for Natasha’s hand, ignoring the shock of pain in his ribs from where a badly-angled shield throw had come back to hit him earlier that week.  
  
    <Here’s the footage,> Bucky said hoarsely. Natasha reached up to smooth Bucky’s wild hair back from his face.  
  
   “James,” she said carefully, “English. Okay?”  
  
Bucky just blinked sleepily at them both, repeating <Don’t you want to see the footage?> in Russian. Sam exhaled slowly and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder.  
  
   <Let’s speak English,> he said slowly, his accent atrocious as always. Bucky took a little while to readjust when he was suddenly woken up.  
  
   “English?”  
  
   “Yeah, Buck. That’s great.”  
  
   “Thank you, James. Can we see the footage?” Natasha put her hair up as she spoke, her movements slow with the haze of exhaustion.  
  
   “Yeah, okay.”  
  
They watched intently as the video replayed; it was in crisp high definition now, the old security camera having been replaced with the best S.H.I.E.L.D. had. They now knew what that one spot in the archeological dig was. A portal. A portal to Steve. At least, they were pretty damn sure it was Steve. There had been only little signs.  
  
A few strands of what might have been blond hair.  
  
An unclear boot print that was roughly Steve’s size.  
  
A splatter of blood, unusable as a sample to compare to Steve’s because the genetic material had been burned away in the portal. Sam had had to excuse himself from the meeting to work himself down from a panic attack at that one; Steve was out there, alone and hurt, and they _couldn’t get to him_ .  
  
There was dead silence in the bedroom now, save for the laptop fan working overtime. It was clear as day: a few scratches in dried mud confirmed it. Some scraggly things that might have been trees, a few squat round creatures, and the unmistakable figure of a man.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “Stephen,” Sam said the moment he entered their office, “can you send something back _through_ the portal?”  
  
Strange looked up from their holographic screen, the numbers and symbols flickering by at a rapid speed.  
  
   “It would take an incredible amount of magic to do that, Sam.”  
  
   “More than it took to set up that monitoring thing?”  
  
It was a complex spell that combined ancient magic and the latest in cutting edge technology in order to alert them when something was altered on that exact patch of ground by Steve, or whoever it was. They weren’t sure why that was the only place being affected (besides the sudden appearance of the Skinless One in the birds’ tales,) but Strange and Stark had surmised that it must have been the exact spot where Steve had been sent back in time during their battle with Infinity.  
  
But ‘monitoring thing’ was easier to say.  
  
   “A _lot_ more power,” Stephen said carefully. Sam had that look in his eye that said he was about to do something very heroic, which meant more Barnes looking murderous, more Romanoff shadowing his every move, and more grey hairs at Stephen’s temples.  
“It’s not… impossible,” they continued, “but it would require the energy from a powerful artifact.”  
  
   “Where is it?”  
  
   “Sam…”  
  
   “Stephen.”  
  
   “I’ll give you the coordinates, but please... it’s been protected by a very dangerous and ancient beast for thousands of years, and no one has come back alive--”  
  
  
  
  
Sam was back with the artifact within 3 days. His suit was still smoking slightly, and he was limping pretty badly, but he placed the small gem on Strange’s desk.  
  
   “Got it.”  
  
   “Sam? How did you--?!”  
  
   “Don’t ask. Bucky’s still not talking to me.”  
  
   “What did you do?”  
  
   “I _may_ have dive-bombed the guardian beast thing near an erupting volcano.”  
  
Stephen could feel it coming. Another grey hair.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “All that, and this is all we can send?” Bucky growled, looking disgruntled. Natasha set it on the table, a carefully blank expression on her face. Nick wore a similar expression, her only tell being running a hand quickly over her shaved head.  
  
   “It’s taking the energy of the 500 demon souls trapped in this jewel to send even _this_ ,” Strange said, sounding a little affronted.  
  
Sam looked down at the little object. It was a simple thing, a white badge with the black S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle logo emblazoned on it.  
  
   “I’m just _sayin_ ’,” Bucky continued. “If we’re gonna send him something small, why not something useful? Like a BIC lighter or something?”  
  
Strange all but bristled. “That’s too complicated! The more components the object has--”  
  
   “It’s just to let him know we’re thinking of him,” Sam said, cutting across the arguing. “And we’re coming for him.”  
  
   “We’re not sure we can go after him, Cap,” Fury said. She raised her eyebrows at their sour faces.  
“Hey-- this badge alone’s taking a lot of power. How many more to send through weapons? Or a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to track him down? I’m just saying. Let’s be practical about this. Cap-- Wilson-- this might be our only shot. You sure this is what you want to send through?”  
  
Sam found that his throat suddenly felt tight.  
  
Natasha pressed a silver marker into his hand, distracting him. She nodded at the badge on the table.  
  
   “Write a message.”  
  
What could he write? _We’re coming for you_ ? Not enough space on the tiny badge. _From Sam?_ No, he didn’t want to be selfish, even if his heart ached a little any time someone so much as said the word ‘Steve’ around him. He wasn’t the only person that missed Steve. In the end, he carefully wrote _FOR STEVE_ in small letters. It didn’t seem like enough.  
  
   “Are you sure?” Sam asked the others in a low voice. Fury was right; this might be their one chance. Bucky answered without hesitation this time.  
  
   “Yeah. Let’s send it.”  
  


* * *

  
Something small and white glinted in the sunlight, catching Steve’s attention. With shaking fingers, he picked up the rusty S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. Even with his excellent eyesight, he barely made out the handwritten _FOR STEVE_ on it. He knew that handwriting. He was sure he did.   
  
He sank to his knees, unsure of how to react. His heart was hammering. They knew where he was. When he was. He--  
  
He--  
  
He… he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t all an elaborate trap. He’d been alone so long, with no contact. How could he know?  
  
He snapped several sticks in half in his anxiety, but he eventually dug the three letters deep into the soft ground.  
  
_SAM?_  
  
He sucked in a sharp breath when it blinked out of sight, the ground as unmarked as it had been 5 minutes before.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
When Steve woke up the next sunrise, he took moment to just lay there. He usually immediately got up and started his routine, such as it was:

  * checking his traps for any catches. He’d gotten pretty good at fashioning them out of the thick vines and flexible branches from the vegetation all around him, but his success ranged from “nothing” to “a huge, disgusting beetle that one time.” Let it never be said that he gave up easily, though.
  * clearing the remains of his meals from the day before. It turned out that cooked meat was the hottest new trend among the native fauna, and Steve wasn’t keen on being woken up by four curious carnivores-- almost like raptors, if someone had stretched out their necks -- snuffing about his campfire. Again.
  * his daily bath. Aside from keeping him from overheating in the almost unrelenting heat and humidity, Steve had found that anything he wanted to hunt could smell him a mile away. Humans didn’t technically exist yet, so his scent was unique and easily spooked his prey.
  * Explore.



   
That last one took up the vast majority of his waking hours. He had to change hunting grounds every few weeks, as the creatures he hunted soon learned to stop being curious, and start running from the strange two-legged beast. He also did it to prevent boredom and try to figure out where the hell he was. He eventually figured out exactly where he was, luckily: the middle of fucking nowhere.  
  
On the plus side, he’d seen strange new (old?) trees with bark unlike any he’d touched before; ferns that curled high over his head, reminding him that movie Sam had said his niece loved ( _Darling, I Made Our Children Real Tiny_ or something like that); scaled craggy outcrops and stood agape as he saw herds of enormous plant-eating dinosaurs moving across the valleys below; shimmied up a tree to avoid having his kidneys lacerated by a grumpy Not T. Rex. He’d only known it wasn’t a T. Rex because he was up the enormous tree for over 9 hours, and had seen an _actual_ T. Rex lumber over and fight the smaller, more slender dinosaur for the right to tear Steve apart whenever he came down the tree. (He’d desperately leapt from tree to tree, fallen roughly 20 feet when a branch suddenly gave way, and sullenly hobbled his way back to his shelter.)  
  
So _that_ had been a real hoot.  
  
But today, Steve lay there for a few extra minutes. In his hand was the small metal badge, and he stared hard at the scratched and faded silver marker. _FOR STEVE.  
_  
Instead of checking his traps, he rooted around in the cold ashes of his cooking fire. He carefully picked up a stick that was only partially burnt, and almost in a daze, started scratching on the rough walls of his little cave, muscle memory taking over.  
  
He’d drawn this so many times in his sketchbook, after a mission. After a dinner, after returning home, after their hands had been so close together on the table, after the hitch in their voices as they said ‘good night,’ after he’d left for home when their movie marathon was finished, the faint smell of his bodywash lingering on the couch cushions, after his laugh had faded when the elevator doors closed between them.  
  
The sun climbed higher in the sky, and Steve’s stomach ached with hunger, but he had to finish. The charred branch shed and splintered, but he merely got another. And another. The _skrtch skrtch_ of him getting the curl of the eyelashes just right, the curve of the lips just so, was the only sound he could hear for some time.  
  
Then he straightened and dusted his hands off, knowing that he couldn’t delay any more. He had to hunt. Steve looked past the trees, to where he knew a steep dropoff lay. He hadn’t gone down to that valley yet, but it had a huge body of water that he could barely see the other side of. It also had a high number of gigantic plant eating dinosaurs. They could potentially trample him, sure, but he was faster than them. That wasn’t what had kept him from venturing to the water yet. No, that would be the prowling Not T. Rexes, T. Rexes, and a handful of Oh Jesus Christ Those Are _Bigger_ Than T. Rexes.  
  
Steve stepped out of his shelter, hefting his crude wooden weapon and rough hide bag. He felt like fishing today.  
  
He paused at the edge of the cliff, glancing back to his little cave. He silently promised the smiling portrait of Sam that he’d be back safe. He had a reason, now, beyond stubbornness, to survive.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Spoke for the first time in what felt like weeks.  
  
“ _Shit_!”  
  
To be fair, he’d just leapt onto what he thought was a tiny island in the lake, only to find out that it was actually a terrifyingly huge turtle.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Giant turtles were _really hard to kill._  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : T. Rexes and Oh Jesus Christ Those Are _Bigger_ Than T. Rexes were very interested in the commotion in the lake.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Ran up the tail of a Not T. Rex, jumped from its head as it let out an enraged roar, and secured a grip on the cliff face _one-handed_ because the other was gripping a heavy bag of turtle meat. He was a humble man, but that had been a _hell_ of a stunt, dammit. And no one was around to see it.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
High above Steve, well-hidden in a cluster of trees, a pterodactyl watched closely.  
  
{the skinless one triumphs.}

 

* * *

  
_SAM?_  
  
   “Fuck,” Sam breathed. He wasn’t watching on a computer screen, this time. He was standing in front of the actual dig site, his heart fluttering strangely in his chest.  
  
It was Steve.  
  
Steve was alive, and had gotten their message.  
  
He’d singled out Sam. Sam was on his mind.  
  
And they had no way to get back to Steve again.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “We can’t reach Steve again, can we?” Sam asked at the briefing an hour later.  
  
   “That’s not technically true,” Strange began, before being interrupted by Tony.  
  
   “Not at _all_ true, a fact you’d’ve known if you’d come to me earlier--”  
  
   “I’m a _master_   _sorcerer_ , Stark. I didn’t think your gadgets were needed--”  
  
   “Okay, I know you’re deliberately trying to be hurtful, so I’m gonna take that one in stride.”  
  
   “We’ve managed just fine until now--”  
  
   “ _Until now_ . There are limits to magic--”  
  
   “There are limits to technology!”  
  
   “If you think of them as ‘gadgets’--”  
  
   “I studied for _years_ under the tutelage of--”  
  
   “ _Gadgets!_ ”  
  
   “Okay,” Sam said, finally finished staring out the window. His uniform, white and light blues, reflected back at him in the glass. He had been Captain America for almost 2 months now. Felt longer. Felt like no time at all.  
“Okay,” Sam repeated, louder now. Strange and Stark stopped sniping at each other; they and the other occupants of the room turned to look Sam. “So if you two work _together_ , we can find a solution. Yes?”  
  
   “Sam, you can’t expect me to work with this arrogant--”  
  
   “C’mon, Cap, Strange is a stone-age--”  
  
   “You. Can. Find. A. Solution. Together. Yes?” Sam repeated, tired of listening to the back and forth. He wasn’t sure what it was about those two that had them snapping at each other, but they damn well had better put aside their issues for the greater good.  
  
   “I suppose we can,” Strange said sourly. Tony just shrugged, already bored with the argument.  
  
   “Good.” Sam paused, trying to think of the best way to phrase his next request. “I need two things: a portal strong enough to transport a human and some weapons… and a way to get two humans back.”  
  
   “No.” The flat statement came from Barnes, who had remained silent until now.  
  
   “No, what?” Sam asked, turning to meet Bucky’s eyes.  
  
   “No, you’re not being a big damn hero and throwing yourself into an untested portal that _maybe_ you’ll get through in one piece.”  
  
Count on Bucky to have his number.  
  
   “I’m the best suited,” Sam said, trying to sound reasonable.  
  
   “ _How_ ?” Natasha asked acidly.  
  
   “Flight-- speed-- strength-- lung capacity--”  
  
   “The hell do lungs have to do with it?”  
  
   “Oxygen levels will be different, I can handle it.”  
  
   “How do you know that?”  
  
   “He’s been undergoing physical tests on the off chance we had this opportunity,” Nick interjected. She was, as usual, completely unimpressed with the various looks of disbelief she got from most of the others.  
  
   “Fine. Then we’re going with you,” Bucky said firmly. Sam was shaking his head before Bucky even finished talking.  
  
   “There’s no way we’ll have enough power to transport that many people. And you can’t take the physical strain.”  
  
   “You don’t know that,” Natasha said quietly. Sam could tell that she was angry, because she sounded mildly disinterested and very polite. Not good, but Sam had to stand his ground on this one.  
  
   “Well, we can’t afford to find out.”  
  
   “So, what? You’re expendable?” Bucky grit out. Nick heaved a sigh and got to her feet to join Strange and Stark, who had already covered several large sheets of papers with calculations and were talking excitedly, bickering long forgotten.  
  
   “Do these mean something or not?” Sam asked, gesturing to his uniform and the shield lying on the glass conference table.  
“Do you trust my decisions or not? Do you respect my leadership or not?” Sam continued, rapid-fire. He didn’t have time for this; he understood that Barnes and Natasha cared for him, as he did for them, but he had a job to do. He had to save his teammate. He had to get to Steve.   
  
   “Jesus, Wilson,” Bucky muttered. He crossed his arms defensively and half-shrugged. “Yeah, we do. You know we do. But you can’t let your feelings for Steve--”  
  
   “I don’t have--”  
  
   “Aw, _lay off_ , Sam. You look like someone’s torn your heart out of your chest anytime someone so much as _thinks_ ‘Steve’ in your direction. He looked at you like you were the only person in the damn room. There’s _feelings_. Jesus. I don’t-- it’s not a problem for me, you two can go be sickening together. Be happy. But don’t throw your life away, Wilson. You matter to us, okay?”  
  
Natasha seemed unusually tired, allowing her shoulders to sag a little. They were all exhausted, running themselves ragged with Avengers missions alongside searching for a way to get to Steve.  
  
   “I’m not watching you die,” she said simply. “I can’t.”  
  
   “I’ll come back.”  
  
She blinked slowly and then looked away. “You can’t promise that.”  
  
   “None of us can promise that, then. This is the job. This is our life. Right?” Sam asked slowly. He was a little surprised with how hard they seemed to be taking his decision to go through the portal.  
  
   “What if I don’t want it to be?” she asked, glancing at Bucky. He looked as nonplussed as Sam felt.  
  
   “Then… we can talk about that when I come back. With Steve,” Sam said carefully. He chewed his lip for a moment before lowering his voice and leaning in.  
“Look-- Barnes wasn’t… totally off-base with what he said. About Steve. About how I feel or-- yeah.”  
  
Nat and Bucky just gave him two very similar “ _Duh_ ” looks in response. Sam gave them a narrow look before continuing.  
  
   “So…where does that leave us?”  
  
Bucky frowned a little. “Dunno. Means we gotta help our idiot partner prepare for a suicide mission to rescue _his_ idiot partner, I guess.”  
  
   “And before you ask, Sam, by _partner_ we mean _romantic partner_ , not we-work-together-and-occasionally-grab-a-beer partner.”  
  
   “Thanks, ‘Tasha. I’m a complete idiot, so thanks for spelling that out for me.” Still, Sam felt a little better. He just wanted to clarify one more thing.  It felt a little silly to ask, but--  
“And… about Steve… you two don’t feel…”  
  
   Bucky just wrinkled his nose in reply.  
  
   “You’re on your own there, Sam,” Natasha smirked. Sam grinned ruefully.  
  
   “Just checking.”  
  
Natasha glanced at the other corner of the room, where Fury, Strange and Stark were now talking numbers: money, time, manpower, etc. Seeing that they were occupied, she allowed herself to reach up and touch Sam’s cheek briefly.   
  
   “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Whenyou and Steve come back, he might not like this arrangement. He might want you two to... well. Either way. We want you around, but it’s your choice. Just… just come back safe, Sam. If you don’t, I’m finding a way there to kick Steve’s ass for getting my favourite boyfriend killed.”  
  
   “Yeah,” Bucky agreed. Then, the ‘favourite boyfriend’ comment sank in. “ _Hey!_ ”  
  
    “Cap,” Tony called, “much as I hate to break up _Polyamory Paradise_ over there-- we’ve got some news about the portal.”  
  
    “Okay, good.”  
  
    “Yeah, it’s _bad_ news.”  
  
   “Dammit.”  
  
   “We need to speak to Infinity,” Strange said tiredly, pressing the heels of their hands against their closed eyes.  
  
    “Mother _fucker."_  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Stephen still smelled of ozone, Sam was still twitchy, and Bucky had just about figured out how to keep the middle finger on his left hand from flickering into different dimensions.  
  
In all, it had been a fairly successful visit with Infinity, imprisoned as it was in the Alternate Mirror Quantum Spacetime holding cell that Strange had fashioned for it. It had toyed with Stephen’s magic, spoken to Sam in perfect bird language just to fuck with him, and when Bucky had irritably flipped it off. Well.  
  
   “At least we know how to make the portal now,” Sam said dully. Stephen just grunted an affirmation, nodding slowly. Bucky’s finger finally reappeared on his hand. Backwards.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   {the skinless one triumphed again, mightily hoisting his-her-their-its prize in its limbs-wings-forelegs}  
  
Sam leaned against the railing of his balcony, listening hard to the pigeons cooing nearby. Their story had changed again.  
  
    **{the skinless one?}** Sam reached out. The birds fluttered a few feet in the air before landing heavily, perturbed that the man had communicated with them. Sam had only listened so far, not joined in.  
  
   {the man knows our speech.}  
  
   {ya, no shit.}  
  
Some birds were more… casual than others.  
  
   {what does he want?}  
  
   {iunno. don’t care. get outta the way, that sesame bagel’s got my name on it.}  
  
    **{can you tell me? about the skinless one?}**  
  
   {why should we?}  
  
   {yeah, fuck off!}  
  
    **{i have croissants}** Sam offered, holding up the bag of pastries he’d been about to have for breakfast.  
  
   {holy shit.}  
  
   {that is a pleasing gift indeed.}  
  
   {i want croissants i want them i want them}  
  
The largest bird waddled over to him and fixed him with a beady eye.  
{we will tell you of the skinless one.}  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Bucky sprayed his beer everywhere.  
“ _Steve_ is the Skinless One?”  
  
   “He’s-- he’s -- they’ve never seen a creature with his-- his-- his pink colour,” Sam barely got out over his wheezing laughter. Natasha had her fingertips pressed hard over her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.  
  
   “Wait, but-- skinless?”  
  
   “Okay, s-so they th-think he’s lost all h-his fur o-or scales or f-f-feathers,” Sam choked out. Bucky threw his head back and practically howled with laughter, and Natasha’s _pfffffffft_ indicated that she’d lost the fight against not laughing too.  
“W-wait, there’s… there’s more, there’s more, they s-say he has… the y-yellow… down… of a new… a new h-hatchling--”  
  
The pigeons feasting on the croissant bits outside took off in a startled flurry when the three humans inside let out loud peals of boisterous mirth. It was, like, super obnoxious.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   {the skinless one fell.}  
  
   {her-his-their-its mighty and terrifying body plummeted.}  
  
   {he-she-they-it dead. sucks to be her-him-them-it.}  
  
Sam sucked in a panicked breath as he woke in the darkness of his room.  
  
Steve was gone.  
  


* * *

   
   {skinless one falls.}  
  
The pterodactyl's mate flapped in agitation.  
  
   {help it?}  
  
The large proto-birds watched the two-legged creature tumble head over heels into the deep ravine, its mouth open in an ugly scream. So ugly, the Skinless One.  
  
   {help it?} the mate asked again.  
  
   {yes. helped us.}  
  
They didn’t get there in time.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   {dead.}  
  
   {eat it?}  
  
   {yes.}  
  
  
  
  
Steve had never, in his entire life, fucked up so badly. Not even when he’d tried to reason with the Mad Porcupine King. He’d gotten cocky; gotten too nosy; gotten too confident. So when he saw a small (here, “small” still meant “a foot taller than Steve”) carnivore making its way to an unguarded nest, he’d taken it upon himself to save the eggs. The nest belonged to Agatha and Timothy, two enormous pterodactyls that had taken a strange liking to Steve and allowed him to hunt near their nesting area. (He’d named them; he couldn’t tell them apart, not really, but it felt right to name them.)  
  
Saving Agatha and Timothy’s eggs seemed like the right thing to do. And there was only (only! ha!) one predator to take care of. Easy enough.  
  
Steve had been taken off-guard when Agatha and Timothy had descended out of seemingly nowhere to join in the fray, and the hunter-dinosaur had twisted and turned, trying to snap up an egg while avoiding the talons and wicked teeth of the enraged pterodactyl parents.  
  
Steve had been thrown to the side in the heat of battle, rolling head over ass straight off the edge. Why the _hell_ did Agatha and Timothy have to nest near the edge of a goddamn cliff, anyway?  
  
_Shit. Shit._ The ground was coming up to meet him. There was no whir of mechanical wings, no breathless voice saying “Can’t your dumb ass wear a parachute for once, man?” Against his common sense, Steve’s mind and body still awaited a pair of arms wrapping around him that never came.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Pain. Only pain.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   {not dead?}  
  
   {no. not dead.}  
  
   {...eat?}  
  
   { _no.}_

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Being unable to move while you could feel your body knitting itself back together was really the pits. Agatha (or Timothy) regurgitated some kind of meat onto his face, which was very thoughtful and repulsive. He ate it anyway, desperate for nutrition.  
  
Tasted better than that shrew-lizard thing he’d caught once.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Able to open eyes. Agatha and Timothy very, very large. Very beautiful feathers. How come none of the drawing of pterodactyls Steve had seen had feathers quite like this? All soft browns and greys, only the plumage of their heads standing out. Yellow. Like Steve’s hair. Maybe that’s why they liked him?  
  
Counting dark speckles on Agatha and Timothy’s legs and stomach: excellent way to pass time while legs heal.  
  
He wished he had something to draw with.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Hobbled to the tree and back. Only came near fainting with every other step. Progress.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Eggs started to make tapping noises. Starting to wonder if baby pterodactyls like human flesh. Dammit.   
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Agatha (or Timothy) craned his (or her) neck sharply, looking in the direction that a loud _crack_ had come from. There was a flash of light that could have been mistaken for lightning, if not for the fact that the sky was completely clear. Steve felt the air shift, the hairs on his arms standing on end, and he struggled to his feet.  
  
Timothy and Agatha went completely, utterly still in a way that made them look like extremely realistic museum replicas of themselves. It was eerie.  
  
And then, in unison, they turned and looked directly at him. And then they started shrieking.  
  
   {stee.}  
  
   {steeb.}  
  
   {steev.}  
  
   {Steev.}  
  
   {STEEV.}  
  
   { _STEEV._ }  
  
Steve backed away, holding his hands up defensively. He wasn’t sure what had Agatha and Timothy so upset, the way they were flapping and screeching at him. He moved away from them on his barely-healed legs, heart pounding.  
  
   {skinless one.}  
  
   {steev.}  
  
   {unknowing our speech.}  
  
   {yes. unknowing.}  
  
   {steev.}  
  
   {Steev.}

   {he-it-she-they. here for steev.}  
  
   {steev.}  
  
   { _Steev!_ }  
  
Steve turned and ran as fast as he could manage with his recovering legs. That was still pretty fast.  
  
   {steev.}  
  
   {sam.}  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Sam staggered to the ground, his legs almost giving out from under him when he tried to land.  
  
His wings folded back behind him, the metallic clicks seeming out of place in this strange place. It was humid as _hell_ , his skin instantly feeling sticky and hot in his uniform, and the air was weirdly thick on his tongue. He felt a little bit light-headed, but he forced himself to breathe normally.  
  
_Steve_ , he thought, focusing. _Steve._ After the birds’ tales of ~~the Skinless One~~ Steve had suddenly changed to his death, Sam had all but flung himself on Steve’s bike and tore over to Strange’s office, calling the others on the way.  
  
There was no time to test the portal, no time to see if more than one person could go, no time, _no time_. Steve was dea-- Steve was hurt, and Sam had to go. He could do it. He was strong. He was fast. He could breathe the air.  
  
_Maybe._ ** _Maybe_** _I can breathe the air_ , Sam was forced to amend now. He was shaky on his feet, even as he used his goggles to scan the surrounding forests (holy shit, was that fern twice as tall as the Hulk?)  
  
Was. Was that a … brachiosaurus? Sam’s hand fell to his side as he really took in his surroundings. These were actual, real dinosaurs. Suddenly, he was glad he’d thought to snatch the shield before leaping into the unsteady-looking portal.  
  
A large shadow passed over him, and he looked up, startled. It looked like a bird. Automatically, Sam reached out.  
  
    **{Hello?}**  
  
   {?????????}  
  
The response was immediate, the pterosaur radiating terror at being ‘spoken’ to by an utterly unfamiliar creature, decked out in bright plumage it hadn’t seen before.  
  
    **{can you understand me?}**  
  
   {yes. it is. skinless?}  
  
It didn’t know any other way to say “human.” This Skinless One _didn’t_ look skinless; gleaming brown hide, a protective pelt of white and blue. It had a strange shell on its arm, red and white and blue. Glinting in the sun. Terrible camouflage.  
  
    **{human.}**  
  
   {?}  
  
    **{you call us humans. not ‘skinless.’ we got skin.}**  
  
The creature, which would later be called _sordes_ by other humans far, far in the future, was amused.  
  
   {skin.}  
  
    **{yeah. you know where another ski-- human is? yellow hair?}**  
  
   {hair?}  
  
    **{...plumage.}** **  
****  
**    {yes. other skinless one.} It paused, and then corrected itself. {human.}  
  
    **{where?}**  
  
   {come. fly.}  
  
As Sam took to the sky, he pushed aside his nausea and dizziness. And, since he was probably the only human around besides Steve--  
  
   “Steve! _Steve?!_ ” Sam hoped his voice would carry, hoped Steve was able to hear it. That Steve was alive to hear it.  
  
   {stee.}  
  
    **{yeah. he’s called steve.}**  
  
   {steev.} It looked thoughtful (as much as a reptilian bird face can do such a thing) for a moment.

  
   {it is called?}  
  
    **{not ‘it.’}**  
  
   {?}  
  
    **{well-- shit, i guess some folks go by ‘it,’ actually--}**  
  
   {??}  
  
    **{oh. right-- say, ‘you’ instead of ‘it’ for** **_me_ ** **, ok?}**  
  
   {you.}  
  
    **{yeah, good.}**  
  
   {you is called?}  
  
Sam bit the insides of his cheeks as he used his keen eyesight to scan the thick canopy of the jungle below him. He didn’t have it in him to teach this proto-bird English grammar.  
  
    **{sam.}**  
  
   {sam.}  
  
    _“STEVE?!”_ Sam bellowed. His voice carried, but there were also chittering, roaring, fighting prehistoric creatures all around. His flying companion wheeled away, following Sam’s lead.  
  
When it cried out, {sam. skinless one. steev.} the nearby bird-like reptiles took up the cry.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Steve crashed through the undergrowth, not even pausing to dodge around the knee-high herbivores shuffling among the trees. He opted to leap over them, hoping his legs would hold out. He really, _really_ wished he hadn’t shattered them by falling off a cliff. That had been a real downer.  
  
He also wished he could stop to take a breather, but Agatha and Timothy seemed suddenly hellbent on killing him for some reason. They were flying above the trees, being too big to swoop in and out of the trees, but they were keeping pace. They were also keeping up the horrible screeching.  
  
   {steev}  
  
   {sam}  
  
   { _steev. steev._ }  
  
   “Steve!”

  
In Steve’s desperation, he could have sworn he’d heard Sam’s voice. But then, that wasn’t so unusual. He’d heard that voice for years, whether or not Sam was actually there.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   {steev.}  
  
    **{where?}** Sam didn’t get an answer, but he didn’t need one. He could see them and hear them-- two enormous pterodactyls racing towards him, calling the name that had kept him awake at night, kept him hoping, despairing, _longing,_ for the last half-year.  
  
_Steve._  
  
    **{where is he?}** Sam asked.  
  
   {down.}  
  
   {yes. down.}  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Steve skidded to a stop, his breath leaving him in a rush.  
  
The wings gleamed red in the dappled sunlight, the white and blue of his uniform stark against the rich browns and greens of the surrounding trees and plants. The shield flashed metallic in the sun, the white light bouncing off of the plumage of the pterodactyls that landed heavily on either side of him. Steve didn’t even care that they were still screaming at him. It was _Sam._  
  
  
  
Either that, or he’d eaten another weird plant and actually, properly died this time. If this was the afterlife, he thought he’d manage.  
  
Sam lifted his red goggles from his face, his mouth slightly open from shock.  
  
   “Sam,” Steve croaked, taking first one shaky step, then another. Sam himself barely took half a step forward before Steve was already in front of him, picking him up in a painfully tight embrace.  
“Oh god, oh Jesus, Sam, it-- is it really you?”  
  
Sam wheezed in reply.  
  
Steve loosened his grip, but couldn’t make himself let go of Sam as he sucked in a greedy breath.  
  
Sam didn’t even notice his light-headedness any more. He’d found--

“Steve,” he finally gasped. He blinked and looked down. Steve suddenly became very aware that he was wearing just enough dinosaur hide to cover his most sensitive parts.  
  
   “Sam, god. _God_ , I can’t believe you’re here,” Steve blurted, cutting through that particular bit of awkwardness.  
  
   “We never stopped looking for you.”  
  
   “You’re _here._ ”  
  
   “Yeah, Steve. I’m here.” Sam turned his head as Agatha (or Timothy) screeched at him. Steve tightened his grip protectively, but Sam… screeched back.  
  
And then Timothy (or Agatha) replied. Sam chuckled and made a strange sort of clicking noise, which Agatha and Timothy echoed. They shrieked, once, at Steve, and flew clumsily up through the trees.  
  
Steve stared at Sam.

   “What the hell was that?”  
  
   “We got a lot of catching up to do. Like this whole Carl the Caveman look you’re rocking.”  
  
   “Who’s Carl?”  
  
   “It’s not … I just made it up--” Sam’s reply was cut short when Steve abruptly shoved him hard. It was only by unfurling his wings that Sam didn’t slam headfirst into some trees, but his admonishment died on his lips when he followed the trajectory of Steve’s path.  
  
So.  
  
It turned out that T. Rexes were much. Much. _Much_ bigger than Sam had imagined.  
  
And Steve fucking Rogers was attacking it with a pointy stick. Of course.  
  
Sam fired his wings up, hovering a few feet off the ground, and whipped the shield in the direction of the enormous dinosaur that was bending and snapping the trees in its furious attempt to get to them. It hit the creature’s hide with a sickening meaty sound and it roared in agony, swiping blindly at where the edge of the shield had been wedged into its flesh.  
  
Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve leapt higher than any man whose legs had just healed had to, executing a mid-air somersault, wrenching the shield from the T. Rex’s side, and tossing it back to Sam.  
  
Show-off.  
  
Sam caught the shield easily, slick though it was with blood. As he drew back to throw it again, the symbol that a frantic Stephen Strange had hastily scribbled on his glove flashed gold.  
  
   “Steve!”  
  
Steve was busy performing all kinds of dramatic acrobatics to fight the T. Rex, but they had mere minutes to get back to the right place before the magic powering the portal home burned out.  
  
“ _Steve!”_ Sam tried again-- this time being drowned out by a deafening bellow from Steve’s reptile foe.  
  
Sam settled on a tried-and-true method. He just had to get a running start--  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “Are you _sulking?_ ”  
  
   “I almost had it, Sam!”  
  
Sam briefly considered dropping Steve into a volcano or something, but he just settled for rolling his eyes and tightening his grip under Steve’s arms. He’d forgotten how fucking _heavy_ Steve was in the air. Steve could run pretty damn fast, of course, but Sam’s wings were faster.  
  
   “Why’d you want to kill it so bad anyway? It was hurt, we could’ve just booked it.”  
  
   “It was gonna hurt you.”  
  
   “I mean, sure. But plenty of things try to hurt us. Part of the job.”  
  
Steve said something, but it was under his breath, lost to the wind whipping by them. Sam was too busy looking for the telltale glow of the portal to worry about what the oddly grumpy blond had muttered.  
  
When they landed and were finally standing in front of the portal, Steve hesitated.  
  
   “Steve, let’s _go_.”  
  
Steve touched Sam’s arm, urging him to turn and look back at Steve.  
  
For a second, Steve didn’t want to go home. Where he was now was a harsh place, isolating and unforgiving. Home meant hot showers, easily-accessible food, TV, a decent bed…  
  
Other people. Other people talking to them, wanting to run tests, wanting a full report, asking him to retell his story.  
  
Sam was _here_ . He was real and warm under Steve’s hands, and Steve hadn’t had more than a moment to even look at him. So he took his moment now.  
  
   “Steve--”  
  
   “Just… 30 seconds. Please.” _I’ve been so lonely_ , he didn’t say. _I’ve been dreaming of your face and your smile._ Sam rolled his shoulders and nodded shortly, agitated.  
  
Steve was staring. He knew it was kind of creepy--okay, maybe reallycreepy-- but he hadn’t seen another human face in months. The skin around Sam’s eyes still bore the indentation from his goggles, and Steve couldn’t help it, raising his fingers to trace the lines. Sam almost jerked back, but didn’t. Instead, he met Steve’s eyes.  
  
The corner of his mouth quirked up when he scruffed his gloved fingers through Steve’s beard, an amused huff of air escaping him. His heart damn near broke when Steve leaned into the touch, his eyes closed with pleasure. It had been a long damn time.  
  
A long time of not saying what needed to be said.  
  
Steve knew 30 seconds had come and gone, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sam’s face. His eyes were even darker than he’d remembered, his eyelashes more curling, his mouth even more…  
  
Even more…  
  
God _damn_ , Steve wanted to kiss him.  
  
Sam seemed to come back to himself, laughing ruefully and pulling back from Steve. Steve felt something in his heart clench when Sam smiled, and dammit, he’d never backed down from a challenge before. He had to say it.  
  
   “Sam--”  
  
It felt like the breath was stolen from them and slammed into their lungs all at once as they were yanked back into the portal.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
A few miles away, a nondescript cave was half-hidden by vines. If you looked hard, you could just about make out the outline of a drawing. A portrait.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Agatha and Timothy watched keenly as their eggs hatched.   
  
   {skinless ones.}  
  
   {gone.}  
  
   {gone.}  
  
They were good parents. They taught their hatchlings important things. Not to wander far from the nesting area. Which bugs would bite back. And two names.  
  
   {sam. steev.}

 

* * *

 

Steve shivered in the dark room, the sheets feeling too smooth against his skin. It was too quiet; no shuffling of unseen creatures in the trees, no low rumble of thunder, no chittering of insects. It was too cold, even though it was the middle of July and he’d turned the AC off.  
  
He was so sick of feeling like the man out of time.  
  
Steve gave up on sleep and shuffled out into the hall, the chilly floorboards unpleasant against the soles of his bare feet. He paused in front of Sam’s door. He knew Sam was probably asleep at this time of night.  
  
   “Quit standing around like a creep and come in, Steve,” Sam said from behind the door, clearly stifling a yawn.  
  
Steve felt tension he didn’t even know he’d been holding leave his shoulders as he closed the door behind him. Sam was half-hidden under the covers, his room dark save for a small bedside lamp. His room was too cold, but Steve didn’t mind.  
  
He sat on the bed and turned to ask if Sam wanted to watch YouTube videos, but instead--  
  
   “I missed you, Sam.”  
  
   “Me too,” Sam replied without hesitation. “Hey-- come here. I’m cold. Keep me warm.”  
  
Steve let out a breath of disbelieving laughter. “Oh, real crafty, Wilson.”  
  
   “I’m dead serious.”  
  
Sam’s feet were _freezing._ The room was too quiet. The sheets were too smooth. But Sam was there. Steve fell asleep and dreamt of soft skin, loud laughter, and a beautiful smile with a little gap between the front teeth.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
**Update** : Alcohol was _so good_ . Still didn’t get drunk from it, but it tasted amazing. Or maybe it was the company. It was noisy and bright and almost too much. It was perfect.  
  
   “Can’t believe you’re dating _Barnes_. Thought you had better taste than that.”  
  
   “You jealous, Rogers?”  
  
   “Why, you planning on leaving me for them?”  
  
   “What, Barnes and Nat? Nahhhh.”  
  
   “We’re _right here_ , you jerks.”  
  
   “Ignore them, James. They’re just being childish.” A feminine voice, low with amusement.  
  
   “See, _Nat_ I understand you dating, Sam.”  
  
   “‘Course.”  
  
   “But Bucky Barnes, Sam? Really?”  
  
   “Well, Nat’s dating me. Can’t be all bad. ‘N fact, _your_ boyfriend’s dating me too, Rogers. How ‘bout _them_ apples?”  
  
   “You ever regret life decisions, ‘Tasha?”  
  
   “Every day, Sam. More wine?”  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
The soft sound of fabric dragging over skin. A belt buckle hitting the wooden floor.  
  
   “Why are you always-- _ahh--_ so worked up after a mission?”  
  
   “You look _real good_ in the Cap suit, Sam.”  
  
   “What’re you-- _oh. Ohhh-- fuck--_ ”  
  
   “ _Real good_ , Sam.”  
  
   “Jesus Christ.”  
  
A low hum. A sharp intake of breath.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “Hello?”  
  
    _Is this Captain America? Sam Wilson?_  
  
   “Speaking.”  
  
    _Captain Wilson, this is Mimi Adams calling from the Post. There are rumours swirling about the drawing recently found in a prehistoric cave--_  
  
   “Mhm?”  
  
    _People can’t help but notice that it bears a striking resemblance to you, Captain._  
  
   “Does it?”  
  
    _There are even theories that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s denial of Steve Rogers’ disappearance is part of a conspiracy--_  
  
   “ _Do_ tell.”  
  
    _That the portrait shows that there were humans in the time of dinosaurs._  
  
   “See, that’s interesting, right there. Wanna know what I think?”  
  
    _Please._  
  
   “Even if this _was_ evidence, why would the drawing be of me? I wasn’t exactly around in the Jurassic age, miss.”  
  
    _Of course not--_  
  
Steve’s hands slipped around his hips. He murmured low next to Sam’s ear, making him shiver a little.  
  
   “I think it’s a prank, Ms. Adams. I’m pretty flattered that they chose me as their muse, I guess.”  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “You drew me in your sad little caveman… cave?”  
  
   “You’re damn right I did.”  
  
   “Jesus Christ, Rogers.”  
  
   “Language.”  
  
   “Oh, _fuck_ you.”  
  
Steve just bent his head to nuzzle at Sam’s neck, his beard tickling the other man’s skin.  
  
   “So, hey,” he murmured, his breath warm against Sam’s skin. “I love you.”  
  
As confessions of love went, it wasn’t particularly flashy. And that’s why it meant so much more; they had enough drama and flashiness in their lives. Sam murmured the words back to Steve, right before their emergency phones went off and they had to go talk some disgruntled merpeople out of flooding the city.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “Natasha, tell your husband to stop cheating at Mario Kart.”  
  
Bucky scowled.  
  
   “I’m not _cheatin’_ , you just ain't as good as... who just used a blue shell on me, _who th’ fuck just used a blue shell on me--_ ”  
  
Sam leaned over and kissed Natasha’s neck, making her flinch and spin out on Rainbow Road.  
  
   “James, tell _your boyfriend_ to stop cheating.”  
  
   “He’s _your_ damn boyfriend too, _you_ tell him--”  
  
   “Jesus, this is confusing,” Steve muttered. His best friend, who was married to his other best friend, who was dating his boyfriend, who was also dating the first best friend, all looked nonplussed.  
“Hey… Sam, wanna get married?”  
  
   “How the hell is that supposed to make this _less_ confusing to you?” Bucky muttered. Sam shot him a look.  
  
   “You’re ruining the moment, man.” He turned back to Steve, who’d gone a little pink in the face.  
  
   “You serious about this?”  
  
Steve nodded vigorously. “Yeah.”  
  
   “Okay. Yeah, all right.”  
  
   “You two are so romantic,” Natasha deadpanned.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
   “So,” Nick said impassively, blowing on her usual peppermint tea, “you’re…” She paused and closed her eyes briefly in a clear god-give-me-strength gesture.  
“ _You’re_ getting married to Rogers, Barnes is married to Romanoff, and you’re… common-law with Barnes _and_ Romanoff?”  
  
   “That’s right, ma’am.”  
  
   “And this is relevant to me, why?”  
  
   “I know our healthcare policies will be kinda tricky, Director.”  
  
Nick looked unimpressed in a way that Sam could only _dream_ of imitating.  
  
Sam looked abashed before slipping into Haitian creole [...okay, and I wanted to know if you’d be my matron of honour.]  
  
He never seen Nick Fury look so genuinely surprised before, but she recovered quickly.  
  
   [Wilson, you’re picking up your fiance’s annoying flare for the dramatic.]  
  
   [Is that a ‘yes,’ Director?]  
  
Nick ordered champagne, and that was answer enough.  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
The music was too loud. The lights were too bright. The laughter and loud talking made him jumpy. The rich smell of the food and flowers was an assault on his senses.  
  
Steve had never been so happy.  
  
Sam and Steve escaped the raucous celebration of their wedding reception by slipping off to the garden to get a breath of fresh air. A small starling landed nearby, examining them with unusual intensity. Sam, out of habit, reached out.  
  
    **{hello, friend.}**  
  
Millions of years of tradition and barely remembered half-truths flitted through the tiny creature’s mind. It knew who these humans were. All birds did, since time immemorial.  
  
   {samsteev.} Then,  
  
   {you guys gonna finish that cake?}  
  


* * *

  
   “I don’t wanna go,” Steve murmured against Sam’s warm skin. Sam sighed, turning his head so that he could look properly at his husband. The moonlight bathed his dark skin, the planes of his body and face touched by soft light. Steve felt-- he felt like when he’d seen the stars for the first time in that far-away land.  
  
   “I know, I know,” Sam said. “But I’m gonna be tied up here, and the rest of the team…”  
  
   “Yeah. Your orders are my orders, Cap.”  
  
Sam laughed, even as he leaned in to kiss Steve’s bare shoulder.  
  
   “Only order I’m giving you, _Rogers_ , is to come back to me in one piece.”  
  
Steve touched Sam’s face to make him look back up, so that he could see Sam’s dark eyes and small smile. If he went on a million more missions, he would fight tooth and nail to come back to that smile.  
  
   “Don’t I always?”

 


End file.
